


Drink Talking

by 0_Ruthless_0



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_Ruthless_0/pseuds/0_Ruthless_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in his place one night, Giles has a couple of drinks, and makes a phone call he could truly come to regret. This is that, and the after effects of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Buffy-verse piece that I ever wrote, so don't take it as standard.

"...I'm just so sodding board. Only two vamps that have dared show fang in the last five nights. And there's no wind of anything going down, or anything. Thought it'd be more interesting then this, living on the mouth of hell, with a Slayer under wing." 

Giles poured himself another drink, and knocked it back with a highly practiced ease. The bottle was now almost quarter empty. And here he was, wasting his time, talking away to a bleedin' answering machine like it was his best friend. He wasn't even certain that he'd managed to put the right number in, with the way the buttons danced all around the hand-piece. Showed how long it had been since the last time he'd gotten properly sloshed. Sighing, he twisted the phone cord around his fingers and started talking again. 

"Sloshed," He finished his thought out loud, "Completely sloshed." 

"You'd think I'd be grateful for the break. Been a busy moth or so, you know? But all I bloody think about is a way to get something to happen. Something. Anything." 

Laughing, Giles took the next mouthful straight from the bottle. He wasn't entirely sure that he would actually be able to pour properly into the cup at the moment, anyway. 

"You know I never could handle boredom. Always hated standing around with my finger up my ass." 

Another mouthful. 

"Look. Don't bother calling me back." Giles wondered if he could get away with taking another drink. He was already well aware that he was in for one hell of a hangover in the morning. Ah well, if he was going to do this he may as well do it properly. Lifting the bottle he attempted to pour out another shot. It was truly amazing, that most of it actually went in the glass. 

"At least things were interesting with you around. Sure, you near bloody drove me mad a few times, but at least things happened. None of this standing around." 

This time he only took a small sip to lubricate his throat. It was definitely time to take it easy, or, if not easy, then easier, at any rate. Probably, he should have knocked the drinking on the head when making this phone call actually started to sound like a good idea. 

"If something doesn't happen soon, I'm beginning to fear I might have to make it happen myself." 

Giles raised a hand, and massaged his temples, as though the simple action could prevent the pain that he was going to be in for, come morning. "Like I said before. Or at least I think I said (Shit. Was he really that sloshed?) Don't bother calling back. I ah, I opened that bottle of absinthe you left behind for me last time. This is just the drink talking. Probably won't even remember this in the morning. With any luck." 

He finished off the glass, and winced. That last drink had certainly not been the most intelligent idea he'd ever had. "Thanks for listening, anyway. Or not, as the case may be. Good night. Or morning. Or whatever bloody time frame it is that you're in." 

Giles hung the receiver up, and sunk back into his chair with a sigh. Not much point in trying to climb the stairs. The state he was in, he'd probably wind up going over onto his arse, or his face. He'd be head over heels, the whole way down. Closing his eyes, he drifted off into a deep sleep. 

It was late afternoon, of the next day when Giles awoke. 

The first thing he saw was the red light, blinking away threateningly, on the answering machine. With a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, which didn't come entirely from last night, he pressed the playback button. The message was a brief one. "Catch you soon, Ripper old mate." Oh, God. He needed another drink, before he had to tell Buffy what he'd just done.


	2. 2

Coming home that night had been strangely reminiscent of the old days, when he and the others and run together in London. Giles really didn't need to be a genius to realise that his home had been invaded.

The sound of one of his old records (Molly Hatchet) blasting away on the turntable was rather a dead give-away. And the open door, and that glass of a liquor, which Giles recognized as absinthe, which was sitting on the table at the entrance, didn't make the home invasion any more subtle, either.

Only one person, whom Giles had ever known, would be as brash as all of this. Grabbing the glass from where it sat (if his suspicions were right then he was certain to need it) he moved towards the lounge. Almost tentatively, he called out before entering, "Ethan?"

"Ah," Giles eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he spotted the offender, lazing on one of his chairs, a glass of rum in his own hand, and looking like he hadn't a care in the world. 

"Wondered when you were due back, Ripper."

"What in the seven circles of hell are you doing here?"

"Hmm," Ethan raised his hands, spreading his free one, to show that he held nothing. It was a gesture of innocents, and sincerity, which Giles had seen him do many times before, "Can't an old friend swing by for a couple of drinks and a chat?"

"Usually, yes. In your case, however, I didn't realise that you still classed yourself as a friend. And besides, your motives have never been so simple."

"Can't I turn over a new leaf?"

"No," Giles replied, shortly, half-snorting as he did so.

"Well..." Ethan frowned, and trailed off, fallen silent for a few moments, "maybe not a new leaf as such. More an old one, revisited. And I'm going to take the fact that you aren't yet showing me what my own heels look like as a good sign. And besides, you did practically invite me"

"You'll be lucky if that's all I do."

"Come on, Rip," he took a sip from his glass, "When was the last time you got out of this stuffy little poke-hole and had a little fun?"

Giles sighed, as he resigned himself to the fact that Ethan wasn't going anywhere, and took a large gulp of the drink, which Ethan had poured, for him. "Where did you get the money for this, anyway?" he gestured to the two open bottles on the table. They were both top of the line, and he couldn't help his curiosity.

Ethan simply shrugged, "I didn't."

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

________________________________________

A couple of albums, and several glasses later Ethan had managed to put Giles, if not totally at ease, the surely relax him a bit more then usual. The volume of the record player had also slowly crept up, and by the time Queen had finished their debut the control was pointing towards maximum.

It was particularly fun, trying to clear his head for a walk into town. Giles would very much have preferred to order in, but Ethan insisted that they head out, for a least an hour or so. Get some fresh air, and a change of scenery. And Ethan wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of the chance of causing a little chaos. Through the haze induced by his old friend, the green fairy, Giles couldn't gather his thoughts enough to argue. He was lucky that he still had enough presence of mind to grab a stake on the way out, just in case. Even with Ethan's insistence that he had cast a protective spell, he still felt better with it.

It was nearly three in the morning by the time the pair managed to stumble back to Giles' place. And, true to form, Ethan hadn't been able to leave without leaving a little havoc for Buffy to clean up, whenever she came around. It had been in the form of a bar-fight. He wasn't sure exactly what with, but it had definitely been a fight. And a very peeved of beast had just watched it's dinner walk out the door. And, at the moment, Giles couldn't care any less. He was simply enjoying himself.

"Sod the blighters," he said cheerfully, as he unlocked the door to his place, and let Ethan in, ahead of him. A few moments later he remembered what direction the sitting room was in, and managed to make his way into it, with minimal damage all round. Ethan had chosen an album from his own collection this time, and it was one, which Giles hadn't heard before. Reaching past the other man, he cranked the volume back up again, with a friendly, "If the neighbors don't like it, well...screw 'em as well."

"That's... That's...That was my point precisely, Ripper."

Giles blinked at Ethan, in confusion, "What was?"

"That..." Ethan frowned, and unable to recall what he'd been going to say, feel back on the old standby, "That when the whole world's spinning, then it's time for another drink." He reached out, and tried to grab the bottle of whiskey, which was meant to be sitting on the table, and frowned again as it danced out of his reach. Then he realised that he was trying to grab the wrong one.

After a couple of goes, he finally managed to catch it, and took a deep drink. Then he fell into an uncharacteristic silence, drumming his fingers against the tabletop, in time to the music.

"I'll drink to that." Giles snatched the bottle out of Ethan's' hands, and did just that, before letting the silence fall again.

Giles lost track of the music as Ethan caught his eye, grinned, and pulled a rather sad-looking smoke out of his pocket. He was well beyond the point of protestation, now. He didn't even grumble when Ethan flicked his fingers and made a small ball of fire, which was obviously meant to light to smoke, flash in midair. It definitely didn't do what it was meant to. In fact, his aim was so well off that Giles found himself chuckling, as he smelt burning hair. That was all right, because it wasn't his.

"Useless," Ethan grumbled.

"And not much better when you're sober, either."

For that, he received a look, which was probably meant to be scathing. The fact that it took the other a few moments to work out which direction to glare in meant that it rather lost it's effectiveness, though. Then Ethan pulled a lighter out of the same pocket and lit up, taking a long drag. Giles wasn't surprised when the sickly sweet scent on marijuana smoke engulfed him. He even took the joint from Ethan's hand when the other offered it to him. His reasoning being, that he couldn't possibly get much more trashed then he already was. Then he took a drag, realised that it was, as usual, peppered up with something else, and lost any ability to reason what so ever.

It was another fifteen minutes before Giles realised that Ethan was trying to keep a conversation going under his own steam. Or at least, he thought it was under his own steam. He couldn't really be sure now. Gods, he couldn't even tell the difference between up and down, let alone keep track of what was being said. And he was awash with feelings that he hadn't known since those all-too-hazy, and yet far too clear days when he and the gang had roamed the streets of London, and both the human, and not so human monsters had gone out of their way to avoid crossing his path.

Slowly, Giles shook his head, in what was usually an unsuccessful attempt at clearing it, and as he caught a name he realised that Ethan was talking about the past. Which wasn't really surprising. Really, they'd whiled away so many hours, that what else was there to talk about?

But he didn't want to be drawn into conversations about the past. Didn't want to feel what he was. What he had, once before. Because Randall’s death had provided the perfect excuse for Giles to turn his back on feelings which he had fought with for years, since meeting, and getting to know Ethan.

Giles rose, unsteadily, to his feet, turned the stereo off, and gestured towards the door. He couldn't deal anymore. He’d had enough for one night.

"I would appreciate if you went back to where ever you've holed up, Ethan. I need to get at least some rest, tonight."

Ethan's eyes darted towards the clock, and it took him a few minutes to puzzle out what the time was.

"Gods, Ripper. It's after four in the mourning. A rather extreme hour to go traipsing all over charming little Sunnyhell, don't you think?"

"Ethan..."

He was familiar with the note of warning which that one word, his name, held.

"But you've got a spare room, and...."

The beast, which Giles had spent so long reigning in, and pretending didn't exist, finally overwhelmed his weakened defences. But he'd known, even before he'd picked up that first glass of absinthe, that there was the possibility things wouldn't end nicely. Giles' random encounters with the other man rarely did, these days. And he was across the room, his fingers buried in the front of Ethan's' shirt, and he'd lifted the old Chaos Mage cleanly out of his seat, and had him slammed against the wall, before he'd even realised what he'd done. His free hand balled into a fist, and even having seen this, Ethan's lips quirked into that damned insolent grin, which Giles hated with every fiber of his being.

Then he drew a deep breath, and, as much as he would have loved to feel the others' jaw give way under the blow that he knew he was capable of, he forced himself to let go. Ethan landed in one hell of a position, only half sitting in the chair, which he'd been sprawled back in, moments before.

"Why?" Ethan pressed the point, and Giles half turned away.

He would allow himself no excuses this time. Give the Ripper, who pined within his soul, one last shot at being. If he didn't say it, then he was going to freeze Ethan totally out of his life. 

And it was all because he couldn't deal with it. And, no matter how deeply, at times, he may hate the other, there was no denying that the presence of Ethan Rayne did bring something which had been sorely lacked, back into his life.

Even back in London, with innocent lives that had fallen around him, with the dark magicks that they had cast, with all the places they had robbed, and all the laws that they had broken, there had always been one line that the Ripper had obsessively toed, but never dared to step over. And here it was, staring him in his face once again.

"Because I care about you, damn it all. Still," the words were out, and for a few moments he wished that he could pull them back. But he couldn't, so he settled for the next best thing, and bought his fist crashing down onto the side of the coffee table. Pain shot through his hand, and he cursed again, as the two closest legs buckled, spilling the empty liquor bottles to the floor.

Ethan didn't even flinch. He was used to such brash behaviors from his old friend, when he got wound up over something. And he didn't have to ask for further clearance, which had been one of Giles's other fears. He could tell from the venom, which the Ripper had put into the word care, what it was synonymous with in this case.

Giles tensed as Ethan drew himself up, and then rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. The hand that was free wiped at a tear that the other hadn’t even realised was spilling down his cheeks.

Ever since the first time they had woven magic, and cast spells designed to call up some of the deepest, darkest monsters, which London had known, he'd felt something, which was so highly magical that it was almost impossible to describe. Something that no spell done with another, or by him self, had ever came close to touching. Which was why, even after Ripper had made it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with Ethan, the other had still stalked him, gladly, across continents. It was why he always made an effort to run into him whenever he was around. Even a part of why he tried, so often to provoke him. Because, even if Ripper was beating the shit out of him, at least he was acknowledging his presence, and the fact that he'd known him before. At least it gave him confirmation that what he had once known before, still existed, no matter how deeply it may have been buried.

In the penetrating silence, Ethan rested his arm around his old friends shoulders. There was no overture, or undercurrent in the gesture, only simple comfort. And that was something, which Giles was grateful for, which he could accept without losing face. Something which, Gods forbid, he even needed at the moment, having finally given admittance to a part of his past which should, by now, have been long gone.

________________________________________

It was around 8 o'clock the next morning when Ethan was woken by the sound of someone knocking at the door. For a few seconds, he pretended that the pounding was simply in his head. Then, with a pitiful groan, he opened his eyes to the cold light of day. He would probably have been in less pain if the Ripper had soundly thrashed him last night. Not for the first time, he regretted an attempt at drinking the same way that he had in the early 70's. And not for the first time, he told himself never again. But he was past 40 now, and he still hadn't learned from past experience. Probably, it was far too late now to ever learn.

As he confirmed that, yes, his feet really were still attached to the ends of his legs, so he had no real excuse for not answering the door, he cast a glance towards the chair where Giles was still in the depths of a drunken slumber. Ah, but at least he looked as rough as Ethan felt. Small compensation though, as the knock sounded again, and his brain knocked back against the inside of his skull in reply.

"Hold on. Coming, damn it," he called out. The words must have been discernible around the sandpaper, which had been laid down along the inside of his throat, he reasoned, because the knocking had, blessedly, stopped. Now, if only the internal one would do the same. But, he reasoned, you couldn't really have everything in life.

He opened the door, and frowned as it stopped after a couple of inches. Then he realised that he'd forgotten the safety chain. That was possibly not a bad thing though, as he found the Slayer eyeballing him from the other side of the door. Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, and made a sad attempt at looking smug. It was a far cry from how he felt, but he couldn't help himself.

"I suppose it was you, behind that trouble in the bar on main street last night," it wasn't so much a question as an accusation.

"Give it a break," he grumbled, running his hands through his hair.

"You know the police were called? At least three of them were eaten."

Ethan would have laughed at this news, but he knew that this morning was truly not a good time to go antagonizing the Slayer. He ought to give it a few hours, at least, before he invited the possibility of another beating.

"Come back in a few hours. Then Ripper can sort out any problems that you may have."

As he stepped back, he shut the door, and cast a spell to muffle the sounds, on the off chance that she decided to try breaking the door down. As it was, he was probably going to be nursing Ripper through a hangover today. He didn't really need to add more fuel to the fire, by having to explain why he'd been woken up by the sound of a shattering door. Ethan knew from past experience how testy Ripper could get over little things like that.

As he came back into the sitting room, Ethan grabbed the bottle from last night, off the floor where it lay, and drained the final mouthful. It was better if he eased himself into sobriety, rather then dove into it straight away. And besides, as the whiskey hit him, the headache dulled considerably.

Smiling now, he let the empty hit the floor, and looked again, towards his old friends still slumbering form. He truly did envy the Ripper that ability which he had, to sleep through anything that wasn't life-threatening.

Ah, well, maybe he could work on it. The smile became a genuine grin. And this was simply because he wasn't planning on going anywhere. And he wasn't going to let his Ripper walk away this time, either.

It was time to shake things up again, in this town.


End file.
